


let the gentle beat from the last flutter of your wings be as one with my heart

by Speckleflower



Category: His Dark Materials (TV)
Genre: Daemon Feels, Gen, Harm to Daemons, How Do I Tag, International Fanworks Day 2021, Lyra's World (His Dark Materials), No His Dark Materials Knowledge Required
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29475975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speckleflower/pseuds/Speckleflower
Summary: “What do you want with that girl?” She protests, voice strained.Why did you drag me away when I talked to Lyra Belaqua?“Why am I here?!”“Ah,” Boreal’s eyes bore into hers momentarily, before flashing wildly and flicking away. His gaze turns to fixate on her daemon—the butterfly flapping delicately in the small space of the car backseat, dipping and rising on invisible currents.The man speaks once more, his voice a grating low tone, yet punctuated with a honeyed smoothness.“And that’s whereyouleave this story,journalist.”
Kudos: 2





	let the gentle beat from the last flutter of your wings be as one with my heart

**Author's Note:**

> after having read his dark materials ~six years ago (and loving it), i started watching the tv series today, and i'm enjoying it so far!!  
> the scene where the journalist is taken away (in episode 2, i believe?) after being seen talking to lyra hit me particularly, so here's a drabble i wrote about it. enjoy!:)  
> fun fact: it took me three tries to spell 'enjoy' correctly 😜  
> submitting this for IFD 2021, because i'd say this is a relatively small fandom :3

Adèle Starminster grips the headrest in front of her, knuckles clenched as she scrambles back.

Not that there’s anywhere to run, being pressed against the locked door of a car. The rough fabric rubs abrasions into her skin, but she cannot let go all the same; she must somehow stable the violent trembles that are coursing through her.

Not to mention the fact that she’s frozen where she is. Not literally, but she may as well be.

“What do you want with that girl?” She protests, voice strained.

_ Why did you drag me away when I talked to Lyra Belaqua? _

“Why am I here?!”

“Ah,” Boreal’s eyes bore into hers momentarily, before flashing wildly and flicking away. His gaze turns to fixate on her daemon—the butterfly flapping delicately in the small space of the car backseat, dipping and rising on invisible currents.

The man speaks once more, his voice a grating low tone, yet punctuated with a honeyed smoothness.

“And that’s where  _ you _ leave this story,  _ journalist _ .”

His hand suspends in the air, almost gracefully. He watches it for a second, as if it is its own being, unconnected from his body, as his palm flattens and a finger beckons to the tiny creature.

The butterfly—knowing nothing more than for humans to be gentle towards insects—flutters down gently to his palm. However, its wings flap erratically as it seems to change its mind at the last moment, desperately swarming upwards after its wings have barely brushed the skin of his hand.

But it’s too late; Boreal’s fingers snap shut around it.

He inclines his head towards the wide-eyed woman next to him, a dangerous glint in his eyes, reflected from the glass window. Adèle clutches at her throat, gasping for air.

“Please! Don’t do this!!” She chokes out, chest heaving as his fist closes even tighter around a part of her. An extension of her soul. The creature she has a life-long bond with. She tries not to imagine her daemon’s wings folding in on themselves until they crumple to nothing, more fragile than paper.

Wisping away in the wind.

But it’s difficult with the shared pain rippling through her; tears force their way from her eyes and she brings her hands to her face with a sob, hunched over.

“Arjan!!” She screams her daemon’s name, beating the carseat in front of her with her fists. But it comes out as a mere croak.

One final squeeze of Boreal’s fingers, and something cracks inside her heart.

Shatters.

The butterfly’s antennae flick one last time.

The beat muffles against the choking darkness of its enclosure. And then there’s nothing. With a cold smirk, Boreal opens his hand to reveal that it’s empty.

Adèle slumps against the door, unconscious.

The Dust swirls feuds around her.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm tired lmao so apologies for any formatting errors—i did not read this over after pasting it into the text editor-


End file.
